


Moment (In Time)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [65]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Babyfic, Deaf Character, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: “She’s stubborn,” Fareeha observes, and wonders if that is just a part of babyhood, or if this is one of her daughter’s first true traits, "Just like her mother."  Like both of them, in fact.Or,A look at Fareeha and Angela's first year of parenthood.





	Moment (In Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [binarylazarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/binarylazarus/gifts).



> It is, as of 26/04, the lovely emilias birthday... and when i asked what she wanted she said smtg abt the first yr of life of pharmercys baby and i was like ALRIGHT and she told me not to go ham but... i kinda did. 12.5k in three days. but anyway go wish her a happy birthday on twitter @llamaemilia if u have one!!! 
> 
> basically all the background u need if u dont wanna read the 40k fic that precedes this "life (i cant foresee)"... fareeha is the one who gets pregnant and jesse is their sperm donor. also i hc fareehas dad, sam, as deaf so that... plays a role in this...

## 0.

At five days old, Izzah seems impossibly small to Angela, far too small to be the daughter of her very tall wife.  She is, of course, a normal size for a newborn—very average, at just over three and a half kilograms—and she is healthy, too, was checked over thoroughly at the hospital by doctors with far more knowledge of infant care than Angela herself has.

Still, it does not hurt to check that she is still breathing.  At least, Angela tells herself this as she does so for what is the tenth time in under forty-five minutes.  There could, after all, be something the other doctors missed, could be something terribly wrong with her daughter, or there could be nothing wrong at all, and she still might go into respiratory distress, because babies are so very fragile, and there are so many things which might, at any moment, go awry, which might disturb the delicate balance of her life.

_Still breathing_ , and now Angela can breathe, too, can sigh in relief at how silly she was, to have worried so, when Izzah was fine last she checked only a few minutes prior.  Everything is fine, _will_ be fine.  Intellectually, Angela knows this, but emotionally?  It is hard to believe.

For most of the pregnancy, Angela tried not to allow herself to grow too attached to Izzah—not yet a person, quite, only the hope of one.  Some part of this was her faith, which teaches that one is not truly a live until birth, but the greater part was simply fear.  Two miscarriages and months of negative tests preceded Izzah, so Angela spent the whole time Fareeha was pregnant worried that something, _anything_ was going to go wrong. 

(Angela’s own life experiences were of little help in dispelling this feeling; in her life, things have rarely gone right, rarely lasted.  Her family, she lost, and Overwatch too, and so many people she cared about both before and after the Fall.  Why should she have this?  Why does she deserve for something to go right, now?  Already, her marriage to Fareeha is much more than she deserves, and is used to, is too happy and too peaceful.  She cannot shake the feeling that something ought to go wrong, soon.)

It was difficult, too, to accept Izzah as being alive, as being real, when it was not she who was pregnant, was not she who could feel her every movement, was not she who had that constant reassurance that yes, Izzah was still alive, still stirring within her.  Yes, Angela could listen to her heartbeat, with the right equipment, could feel her kick occasionally, but it was not the same, was only fleeting moments of connection between long periods of doubt, of suppressing her hope, of not allowing herself to grow too attached, lest something go wrong.

For something can always go wrong, right up until, and during, birth, this Angela knows, as a doctor.

But nothing did go wrong, and now Izzah is here, and Angela is terribly emotionally unprepared for the reality of Izzah’s life.

She is not unprepared in the sense that she is not ready to love Izzah, and to care for her properly, because Angela loved Izzah before she was ever conceived, when she was only the _idea_ that they might have a child, one day, and because she does know a good deal about infant care.  Rather, she is unprepared in the sense that none of this feels quite real, yet, and she is painfully aware that only one little thing need go wrong for her baby’s life to end, just as abruptly and painfully as it began.

What is hard, for Angela, is accepting the reality of her daughter’s life.

She has not told Fareeha this. What would she say?  _I’m terrified that our baby is going to die?_ Of course she is—every new parent is.  But the fear lingers, and she checks Izzah’s breathing as often as she can, holds a finger in front of her mouth to feel the soft exhale of her breath, and only then stops holding her own.

It does not help that this is the first time the two of them have been alone.  Fareeha is resting, after a long night awake, and, foolishly, Angela declined Ana’s offer to help watch Izzah in the meantime, said she could care for her daughter herself.  She _can_ , of course she can, but maybe she should have just stayed in, not taken Izzah on the short walk out to the garden, should have stayed within one room of Fareeha.

Then, at least, she could call her wife if anything goes wrong.

But she did not do that.  Instead, she told Athena to tell Fareeha precisely where they were upon waking, and took Izzah out to the garden, the place where she first considered that she and Fareeha might have a _baby_ together, in order to show her daughter what flowers bloomed for her birth.

Several of Angela’s earliest produce plants have borne fruit, but that is not what is of interest to her, right now; Fareeha’s sea lavender has bloomed early, a beautiful bright purple, and although Izzah is too young, yet, to see colors, it is important that she be exposed to as much as possible for her visual development.

She talks to Izzah about the plants, although she knows Izzah cannot hear her, because she knows that her baby is used to feeling the vibration of Fareeha’s speech, and might find it comforting—and, privately, Angela finds it comforting, too, a reminder that Izzah is here, in her arms, is someone _real_ that one day she will be able to communicate with. 

A baby.  Their baby. 

One day, Izzah will be old enough to really see the flowers, to make her opinions known, to tell Angela if she much prefers the purple of the lavender to the yellow that her nursery is currently painted, but for now, it is enough simply to hold her, to know that she is breathing, and to begin to accept that she is real.

## 1.

Fareeha always knew that Angela would make a great mother, knew before they married, before they ever even discussed having children.

It makes sense; Angela is a natural caretaker, is not happy _unless_ someone else’s life is in her hands, and she has a good deal of patience, after so long having dealt with working for an organization whose beliefs are so often at odds with her own.  Being a doctor has trained her, too, has given her a sixth sense for when people are trying to sneak out of the medical ward, something Fareeha is certain will come in handy once Izzah is old enough to move on her own.

At five weeks old, of course, Izzah is not doing much of anything, yet.  Mostly, she sleeps, and she cries, and she eats, and eats, and eats.  Fareeha is grateful that Angela put in the effort to induce lactation in herself, despite how frustrating it turned out to be, because it means that Fareeha can leave Izzah behind _sometimes_ without being interrupted within two hours with a demand to be fed, or can go back to sleep, once or twice, when Izzah cries in the night.

Being a parent is rather more stressful than Fareeha imagined it would be.  She and Angela are a team, have been on missions together in the most adverse conditions—surely they should not be worn down by a five week old.  Yet, they are. 

But it is worth it.  Izzah is learning to smile, now—really smile, not just make a face when she passes gas—and when she recognizes Fareeha’s face and grins up at her in response, happy because one of her _mothers_ is there, Fareeha would not trade that moment for the world, or even a solid eight hours’ sleep.  Everything is worth it, for that.

Or, almost everything.

When Fareeha decided she wanted to give birth to a baby, rather than just adopt, she accepted that she would not be able to be in the field for the duration of her pregnancy, accepted, too, that it would be some time afterwards before she would return, that she would stay on base in the best interest of her child.  What she did _not_ expect was that her body would still feel so foreign to her, five weeks post-partum. 

(Part of that is the assorted consequences of her unplanned cesarean.  It was not _terrible_ —her doctor was very well practiced, and she was allowed to remain conscious, did not miss the moment of Izzah’s birth, did not miss the relief of hearing her first cry, or the warmth of her child on her chest, still sticky from birth—but she would have much preferred to have delivered naturally, and she still feels she failed, somehow.  And there is the recovery, too.  Because she gave birth in a hospital, with an experienced gynecologist, and her own condition was never life-threatening, she was not given the benefit of nanobiotics to help heal, and she has not received any since, either, Angela refusing to administer them on the grounds that they are not approved for use by nursing mothers.  She will be fine, but she hurts, and she did not anticipate being told to _take it easy_ for weeks after her birth, having just spent the last few months _taking it easy_ whilst pregnant.  It is preventing her from getting back into shape.)

Normally, Fareeha is in peak physical form, is the sort of person who looks as if she spends time in the gym every day—and she does, or, she would if she could.  It bothers her, now, to look down and see that her body is _still_ not the body she recognizes, is soft in all the wrong places. 

Knowing that when others see her, they see her as more _feminine_ now does not help.  Fareeha has no objections to femininity, of course, has always been feminine, in her way, but having given birth does not make her any more or less a woman than she was before.  All it has made her is tired, and a good seven kilograms heavier than she is used to.

Unfortunately, for all of the reasons Fareeha thinks Angela will make an excellent parent, she makes it impossible for Fareeha to get back in shape quickly—chides her for not eating enough, or for trying to sneak out to work out, notices that she is acting strangely, does not seem quite at home with herself.

Or, perhaps fortunately, because when Angela finally confronts her about her behavior, and when she tries and fails to hide it, how disappointed she is, right now, in her appearance, in her _strength_ , in her ability to be the sort of mother she wanted to be—Angela understands.  Being trans is not the same thing, of course, is a different sort of feeling of not quite being at home in one’s body, but Angela has experience, nonetheless, and the advice she gives _is_ helpful. 

_You don’t have to love your body_ , she tells Fareeha, _Or feel beautiful, or happy with how you look.  You just start by being thankful for what it can do for you._ When Fareeha protests, says she _cannot_ do what she used to do, and that she failed Izzah, did not deliver her the way they have planned, Angela pushes Izzah into her arms, and tells her to feel the soft rise and fall of their baby’s chest, feel the warmth of her skin and the slight kicking of her feet as she dreams, and to know that she did that, that her body kept Izzah safe and nourished for the months before she was born, and is caring for her now. 

_Shouldn’t that be enough?_

And it is—or, it is not, at first, but Fareeha reminds herself every day that her body did something great, that it made a baby, their baby, _Izzah_ , and maybe she cannot do as many crunches in a row, yet, as she used to, but she cannot hate the body that gave them their daughter.

Slowly, Izzah gets bigger, learns to do more, and slowly, things get better.

## 2.

Like any nine week old, Izzah coos delightedly whenever she sees one of her mothers’ faces, and Angela finds it hard to resist the urge to coo back.  After all, Izzah is _adorable._

Maybe Angela is biased, because Izzah is her baby, or because she happens to look so very much like the woman Angela loves—and just a bit like her closest friend, too—but if anyone asked, Angela would be able to honestly tell them that Izzah is the most perfect baby she has ever seen, and in her line of work, she has seen many.

So it is difficult, when Izzah coos at her, not to make noises back, to try and get a giggle out of her daughter for the first time.  It is difficult, but she has to resist, because when she does the response is more difficult still.

They knew, before Izzah was ever conceived, that there was a chance she might be deaf, because Fareeha’s father is, and she carried the gene, and Angela accepted that Izzah might never hear— _accepts_ that her daughter is deaf, present tense, has made no attempt to change her, or to convince Fareeha that they ought to do so, has left Izzah as she is, because she does not need to be changed to be their daughter, to be perfect and whole—but it is another thing to adjust to the reality of it. 

When Angela coos back at Izzah, her daughter never responds.

Accepting that her daughter’s life will still be beautiful, and happy, and in no way diminished by a disability is not such a difficult thing, intellectually.  After all, Angela knows a good number of disabled people—some, like Torbjörn, who were born with their disability, and others, like Genji, who became disabled over the course of their lives and who had a difficult time of adjusting to it—all of whom are no more or less happy and able to do as they please than she is. 

Accepting emotionally the reality of her daughter’s disability is another thing entirely. 

Izzah has such a pretty voice, when she coos, and Angela imagines she would have been a beautiful singer, if she could have heard herself, realizes, one day, when they are alone in the nursery, her changing Izzah’s diaper and Izzah making happy noises in response to being clean, that she will never hear that voice sing anything.  That is fine, is all well and good, but it hits Angela, then, that she will never celebrate a traditional Passover with her daughter, nor Hanukkah, that her daughter will never hear the Shofar or sing a prayer.

That, more than anything, hurts Angela.  Until that moment, she had not realized how much she wanted to do those things with her daughter, how much she wanted her child to experience the culture that Angela’s own mother brought her into, and her mother before, and her mother, and her mother, spanning back nearly six thousand years.  Knowing that she will never have that connection with her daughter, that they will have to find some other way to do things—it feels like a loss.

(It is not one, Angela knows, but knowing is not _feeling_.)

They will find other ways, of course, of practicing.  Izzah is not the first child with a Jewish parent to be deaf, nor will she be the last, and there are people in the community whom Angela might ask, who can tell her what ways they have adapted things in order to fit their own needs.  Angela can introduce Izzah to those people, and ensure that she does not feel lonely, does not feel that what she is doing is less than, is strange. 

Still, the adjustment of expectations is a painful one, for Angela, and she finds herself hastily disinfecting her hands and then wiping away tears, not wanting to return to the living room having obviously been crying and have to explain to her wife what about a diaper change upset her so. 

For Angela has not discussed this yet, with Fareeha, has not told her how she feels.  After all, having been raised by a deaf father, Fareeha has had no trouble in adjusting to what their daughter’s life will be, for she knows sign fluently, knows Deaf culture, knows deaf people from all walks of life.  Maybe in time, they will talk about this, once Angela has gotten past it, will laugh at how much Angela worried about something that did not much matter, but there is no point in bringing it up now, in making Fareeha think that Angela might be unhappy with their baby, because she is _not._

It will be fine, and Angela knows that.  No matter what, Izzah will be no more or less happy than any other child, and it will not do to mourn what could have been in front of her, will not do to let her think that she is anything less than another child—she is not.

When Angela says that Izzah is the most perfect baby she has ever seen, she _means_ that, deafness and all.

She just needs a little time to adjust, that is all, a little while to mourn what will never be, or will happen with only some of her children, if and when they adopt more, will be sad about all the things she and Izzah will not do together now, so that when Izzah is older, Angela will have had time to accept everything, will be the best mother she can be to her daughter. 

Izzah coos again, draws Angela’s attention back down to her perfect little face, her already thick eyebrows, her large dark eyes.  Looking at her, Angela cannot help but smile, and Izzah makes yet another noise at that, one of happiness and recognition.

She is perfect, she _is_ , and there is nothing about her which Angela would change.

## 3.

After nearly a year out of the field, Fareeha thought she would like being back more.  Oh, she enjoys the feeling of flying again, and even more enjoys the feeling of being in her element, knowing that she is the best at what she does, and that she is the best person for this job, the one best suited to protect the people here, where they are deployed.  It feels good, to be back in command _actively,_ rather than giving orders from behind a desk, better to know her team still trusts her, still obeys unquestioningly as ever, confident in the knowledge that she will bring them all home safe, and it feels best to know that she _can_ do this still, that her body is not quite the same as it was, before giving birth, but it is every bit as able to do what she needs it to as it was before her absence, that her bedrest and then careful work of getting back into fighting form has paid off.

But, for all that she enjoys being back on the field—she misses her daughter terribly. 

She knew she would, of course, everyone told her she would, and she has spent the last year either carrying her daughter or _carrying_ her, so it is no great surprise that the weight of her rocket blaster feels wrong in her arms. 

Being warned, however, did not prepare her completely for the panic she feels, when she wakes and does not see the silhouette of her daughter’s bassinet nearby, or the ache in her breasts when she is in the field at a time she would normally be feeding her daughter, and she realizes that it will be another hour or two, yet, before she can return to the tent and pump.  It certainly does not prepare her for when she sees a baby, in the arms of one of the men she helps usher out of a building that has tactical value to Overwatch, and is, therefore, being temporarily commandeered. 

When the baby cries her whole body wants to respond, to comfort the child, to quiet it, her arms ache to hold it and her breasts leak milk and she thinks _ugh,_ because the last thing she needs is for her flight suit to chafe her nipples, or to smell like sour milk, or both, but belying her annoyance is a deep, wordless longing.

She wants her daughter.

(Of course, Fareeha knows what it is to miss people—she has missed her wife, on long missions where they were separated, and misses her now.  She missed her mother, when Ana went away during the Omnic Crisis, and again when she ‘died’, and she misses the comrades, the friends she has lost on the field.  Those sorts of longing are not the same as this one, however, this need not only to have Izzah there but to _hold_ her, to know that she is safe.)

It is strange, and terrifying, the sudden and near-overpowering urge to know that Izzah is safe, to know that she is somewhere far from here, is back in she and Angela’s quarters, where her biggest concern is that Angela keeps trying to set her down long enough to use the toilet in peace, but she wants to be _held._

There is, of course, nothing Fareeha can do to satisfy this urge.  She is in the middle of a warzone, and even if she did have the time to call Angela, to see Izzah’s face—that distraction could prove fatal.  Then what would her daughter do, with only one of her mothers to protect her?

No, Fareeha cannot think about it, must quash the feeling, the emptiness inside her chest that arose at the sound of that cry, and must get on with her mission.  There are people who need her, and Izzah needs a mother who can still do her job.

(Here is the truth: Fareeha knows already she will not quit, that like her mother she could not be happy staying at home, and that if she did quit to fulfill this longing she feels in this instant, she would only grow to resent the choice, and her daughter along with it.  But for an instant—for an instant, she entertains the thought of quitting the field, going home, and burying her face in her baby’s soft hair.)

So Fareeha tries to force herself not to think of Izzah, to focus on her work, instead, on the people who need her here.  What she is doing now is necessary, is going to help create a better world for her daughter to grow up in and—

—And it strikes Fareeha how very much like her mother she sounds, in that moment, telling herself that she has to leave her daughter behind, so that her child might have a brighter future.

Well, Ana was right, about some things, and that was one of them.  Fareeha’s childhood _was_ better, for her mother having been in Overwatch, and she adored her mother for her work, admired her, could think of no one better, no one stronger, no one braver.

Naturally, Fareeha knows, now, what it is to feel fear on the battlefield, knows that her mother is not the strongest woman in the world, in any sense, and knows that Ana was deeply flawed—but as she thinks about her daughter, about what it means to fight for her future, about the fact that she cannot abandon her post because the child she heard has just as much right to a future as Izzah, thousands of kilometers away and safe in Angela’s arms, as she considers all of those things, something about Fareeha’s perspective changes, just a little bit, her world coming into focus.

She thinks she understands her mother better, now.

## 4.

At four months old, Izzah is finally fully aware of her surroundings, is better able to process information, and needs constant stimulation in able to better support her linguistic and motor development.  Angela thought that this stage would be exciting, seeing her baby begin to develop a personality, and abilities, knowing that Izzah could do more, now, than sleep and cry and make nonsense noises she cannot even hear, but instead, it is rather frustrating.

Frustration the first: Izzah is ahead enough in her motor development that she can already roll at seventeen weeks—but only in one direction.  If she kicks just so, she can go from her stomach to her back, but there she gets stuck, is unable to do anything, and cannot see as much as she could from her position on her stomach.  So she screams, endlessly, until Angela or Fareeha or anyone in her vicinity comes to turn her over, so she can resume playing with whatever toy was laid out in front of her before she decided to try and roll.  The first few times she did this, it was exciting, knowing she could move.  The next few, Angela was amused at her getting trapped on her back like an unfortunate turtle.  The next several hundred, it was just exhausting, and Angela hopes that Izzah learns to roll back onto her stomach _quickly._

Frustration the second: Izzah seems to have inherited Fareeha’s fascination with bright colors, always wanting to be held as close to them as possible, and making delighted sounds whenever a nice, soothing stuffed lamb is replaced by a neon green snake toy.  That would be fine, really, even if not preferable, if Izzah also did not overstimulate herself with said colors.  Such is normal in babies, of course, the tendency to overwhelm themselves with new information, even as they actively seek it out, but even if Izzah cannot hear herself, she can scream loudly, and does so when she is tired, but cannot fall asleep.  So Angela has instituted a curfew on Izzah’s brighter toys, putting them away forty-five minutes before her daughter usually sleeps, and it works, sometimes, but then some nights Fareeha is not thinking, and walks into the nursery for Izzah’s evening feed wearing a neon Hawaiian print shirt, and they are back to square one. 

Frustration the third: language.  Because Fareeha learned sign from her father, she knows ASL, and so that will be Izzah’s first language, too.  That is not a problem, because Angela and Fareeha agreed before she was ever conceive that any child of theirs would go to international school, and at a school with multiple languages of instruction, requesting an interpreter for a non-local sign language should not be impossible.  When she is older she will learn, too, any other languages she would like, or thinks would be useful to her, and they will support her in that.  In the meantime, Angela struggles.  So many of the resources for teaching babies to sign are meant only for use by pre-verbal infants, and not for parents who need for their child to actually learn the entire _language._ For Fareeha, it is easy, for she knows the language already, can sign entire conversations at Izzah, just the same as if she were speaking to her aloud.  But for Angela?

It is not so simple.

What Angela would like to do, is to sign at Izzah the same way Fareeha does, to teach her full sentences by so doing, so that she learns the language as naturally and fluently as possible.  The problem, of course, is that although Angela knows _some_ sign, was learning in bits and pieces at Fareeha’s insistence before Izzah was born, to ease communication when stress made talking difficult for herself, and although she has done as much as she can to become fluent, since learning that Izzah was deaf, she is still not there yet, is not at the level she wants, no _needs_ to be, for the sake of Izzah’s future.

(Angela has, in fact, always been rather bad at languages, and frustrated by that fact.  It was difficult when she first joined Overwatch, stumbling through conversations with her coworkers when the topic of conversation drifted from the things she had learned about in the Business English and Medical English courses she had taken in university, and it is difficult still, when she realizes that she cannot quite put into words the depths of her feelings for her wife, every expression that comes to mind feeling somehow inadequate.  So it does not surprise her, exactly, that she has trouble in learning to sign as quickly as she would like, but it is still immensely frustrating.)

Izzah can only focus for so long, when Angela props her up in a seated position, can only spend so much time per day immersed in language, unlike babies who do not acquire all their language visually, who can still hear their mothers if they squirm away, or if a bird outside catches their eye.  Therefore it feels like she is failing her daughter, when it takes Angela time to remember the right sign for what she is trying to say, is risking her falling behind her hearing peers, given that she might not experience enough at this crucial phase of language acquisition.

It is, of course, a silly fear.  Plenty of deaf children born to two hearing parents do not have their deafness discovered until they are several months older than Izzah is now, and their parents are even less equipped to help them learn to sign.  Those children all turn out fine—and Izzah will too, even if she does not try to sign back, yet, when Angela signs at her, does not sign-babble in the same way a hearing baby might babble sounds. 

When Angela stumbles on a word, she worries that she is failing her daughter, somehow, that she is not the parent best suited to meet Izzah’s needs, that she could be doing more, doing better—but then Izzah reaches one chubby little hand out to grab one of Angela’s hands, and stuffs it in her mouth, giving her first laugh as she does so, and Angela thinks, things will turn out alright.

At least _someone_ finds this funny.

## 5.

With the amount of time Fareeha is willing to spend out on missions gradually increasing, weaning Izzah has become somewhat of a priority for her.  It is distracting, to be in the field, and for her body to tell her that were she home, it would be time for Izzah to eat again—and distraction can be deadly, in her line of work.  But although her milk supply _should_ be dwindling naturally, given the periods of time she spends not actively nursing, pumping several fewer times a day when she is away, Izzah’s ravenousness when Fareeha is back home always brings her supply back up, and so returns the aching and the need to pump frequently, the annoyance and distraction and discomfort.

Not helpful in the least is Angela, who thinks that Izzah really ought to be nursing for longer, even though at five months old their daughter is _theoretically_ capable of eating solid foods, or even just switching to formula. 

Naturally, Angela is not forcing Fareeha to keep nursing, or even really saying anything that might pressure her to do so, but Fareeha can feel her wife’s quiet disapproval, when she discusses, again, that she thinks Izzah ought to transition to real foods.  Fareeha thinks it is a cultural difference, in part, because Angela seems to think that nursing at least once per day until a child is _a year old_ is not unusual, whereas in Egypt Fareeha does not think she knew a single mother who nursed to six months, and certainly did not know any who did so _exclusively._

(One might argue that the Omnic Crisis erupting had a hand in this, but Fareeha knows, too, from her mother, that she was completely weaned by three months.  Certainly her development was not negatively impacted by this, she is as healthy as anyone, if not more so than most, and taller, too.)

Also not helping is the fact that Angela is still nursing Izzah, as much as she can.  It is not to enough to be exclusive, and she relies on what Fareeha pumped in advance to supplement Izzah’s feedings when Fareeha is away on a mission, but it is still enough that Izzah still very strongly associates being fed with _nursing_ , and seems to prefer it over bottles, which brings Fareeha to her current predicament.

At around 14:00, Izzah usually eats.  She starts to get fussy a few minutes before, grumpy because she knows that it is close to time for her to be fed, and she wants for food to _hurry up_ , and thinks that if she makes noise, that will happen.  Now, it is 14:15, and she is beyond fussy, is angry because she is _hungry_ , and still she is refusing the bottle Fareeha is holding out to her, stubbornly turning her little head away every time Fareeha tries to put it in her mouth.

“She’s stubborn,” Fareeha observes, and wonders if that is just a part of babyhood, or if this is one of her daughter’s first true traits.

“Just like her mother,” Angela says from the doorway, amusement plain in her voice.

“Which one?”

“Both, I should think,” and Angela is not wrong, either one of them has more than enough stubbornness to go around.

“We’re doomed,” Fareeha says, and then, after she tries—and fails—again to make Izzah drink, asks, “You’re sure I’m not doing something wrong?”

“Well,” says Angela, walking over to where Fareeha is seated on the bed, holding Izzah seated on her lap with one arm and extending the bottle with the other, “Normally I nurse her first.  But otherwise, yes.”

“Do you think she wants…?” Fareeha makes a vague gesture towards her chest with the hand holding the bottle.

“Of course,” says Angela, “Wouldn’t you?”

Fareeha laughs at that, the vibration of her chest startling Izzah out of crying.  From Angela’s tone, she clearly meant it innocently, but the implication—

“Well,” says she, “I guess she is my daughter after all.”

“You’re terrible,” Angela tells her, obviously also trying not to laugh.  “But here, I’ll nurse her for a bit and then you can try feeding her the rest from the bottle.”

“So we’re giving up?”

“Do you want her to keep crying?” Angela asks pointedly, and no, Fareeha _really_ would like for Izzah to stop.  Besides, they have not given in completely—Izzah is nursing from Angela, and she will take a bottle from Fareeha afterwards, meaning that Fareeha can continue attempting to wean her.

Or, that is the plan, anyway.

When Angela has nothing left for Izzah, she excitedly reaches out for Fareeha, and Fareeha thinks _perfect, she’s ready for her bottle_ , sets Izzah back on her lap and—

—And Izzah bats the bottle away from her face again, and slaps one chubby fist against Fareeha’s sore breasts, _hard._

“Demanding,” Angela observes.

“Strong, too,” Not that that is a surprise—Izzah has been a precocious baby, when it comes to her motor control.

Another attempt to give Izzah the bottle is met with another firm insistence that she nurse, instead, and Angela laughs, says, “She knows you’re holding out on her.”

“Does she?” It is a genuine question—Fareeha is not sure how much infants _know_ at Izzah’s age, how capable of higher reasoning they are, and how much of this is just them projecting their own attempts at reasoning onto Izzah’s behaviors.

“Well,” says Angela, “It certainly _seems_ like it.”

“Ugh,” says Fareeha, “I can’t believe I’m about to lose a fight with a _baby_.”

But she does, and as she unbuttons her shirt, and Izzah happily latches onto her, she thinks that this will certainly not be the _last_ time she loses an argument with her daughter.

She does not mind; stubbornness has served her well.

## 6.

Angela thought that, by this point in Izzah’s life, she would be back to working regularly, would be spending her entire day in the lab, or at least most of it, would be leaving Izzah at a daycare for most of the day, and caring for her only in the evenings, and at night, splitting that time with Fareeha when her wife is in town.  Instead, she finds herself fretting over six months on where the right placement for Izzah might be, to whom she could safely entrust her child, what facilities would be equipped to meet Izzah’s specific needs, and the fear, when Izzah is away from her, that something will go wrong.

Leaving her in Ana’s hands for an afternoon is hard enough—to leave her with a stranger would be impossible. 

With time, it has gotten easier for Angela to accept that Izzah is alive, is here, with them, is healthy and happy, but she still checks, when no one is looking, still wakes at odd hours and walks to Izzah’s room, if she does not immediately hear her on the baby monitor, ensures that she is still breathing, that her heart is still beating, that she is still living.  There is still so much that is dangerous, for a baby as young as she.

Even in older children, sometimes things just go _wrong,_ and Angela worries about accidents all the time, all the myriad of things that happen to children that might have been prevented, if only someone was more attentive.  She has seen a thousand of them, untimely deaths, and the fear that Izzah might be among them follows her everywhere.  Izzah might be well one minute, and have choked the next, alone only for the duration of time it took Angela to use the toilet, and then what?  How could she live with the guilt?

Knowing this, it is hard to leave Izzah behind for any period of time, hard to imagine sending her to daycare, and so she stalls, finds every excuse for Fareeha as to why she has not sent Izzah yet, and for the most part, things are fine as they are.

When she gives routine check-ups and signs off on injuries being healed, when she administers physical therapy, she brings Izzah with her, has her sat in her lap, or in a little pop up cot, and no one complains.  If anything, she is good for morale, brings a smile to the agents’ faces even on the roughest days when they hear news that they do not want to about their recovery timetable.  It is good for her development, too, to be held by as many people as possible, to be exposed to many faces and to try and communicate with them. 

When there are emergencies, when someone needs surgery—then Izzah is left with Fareeha, or with Ana, or sometimes Jesse, and Angela feels better knowing that her baby is not with a _stranger_ , can focus only then, knowing that Izzah is safe.  And anyway, with so many such incidents coming in the middle of the night, it is not like putting Izzah in daycare would change anything, really; she would still often be with a family member, there not being time to drop her off with someone else.

Otherwise, Angela reads medical journals with Izzah on her lap, attends MSF conference calls advising on the logistics of administering aid in difficult situations with Izzah playing just out of sight of the camera, and helps keep Overwatch running, as best she is able, without ever putting her daughter down for too long.

This is not what she told Fareeha she would do, when they discussed Angela potentially staying on base for the first year of Izzah’s life, thinking it would be better for their daughter to have the stability of always having the same person there, when putting her down for the night.  Then, Angela said she would put Izzah in daycare at around five or six months old, would return to working in the lab full time, would research cures for things that, frankly, _do_ need curing, diseases that might impact their daughter, later in her life.

But you cannot bring a baby in a lab.  It is not safe, and at night, Angela has dreams of an explosion, of shattering glass, of searching for Izzah in the wreckage and not hearing her cry.

(In truth, it is more a memory than a dream.  When the old Headquarters exploded, Angela was in her lab, and she remembers having to roll in the shards of glass wish covered the floor to extinguish herself, and then crawling blindly over it towards where she remembered the eye rinse station was, praying all the while that the liquid on her face was from a sprinkler, and not something too toxic.  She has not felt safe in a lab since, has done all her updates to her Valkyrie in the engineering department, if she can, has minimized the time she spends there as much as possible by throwing herself into other projects.  If Izzah were at daycare, then being grounded from missions for several months, Angela would be all out of excuses.)

So Angela has not gone back to work full time, just yet, and she tells herself that it is fine, that she volunteered to be Izzah’s primary caretaker until she was a year old, an equal amount of time as Fareeha spent out of the field whilst pregnant and recovering.  She tells herself that, but her fingers itch to hold her staff, again, and on good nights she dreams of flying.

She thought it would be easy, staying out of the field once Izzah was born, because she would know that she had another priority, thought that she would go back to only travelling for aide work, after Izzah hit a year or so, and even then only on rare occasions, and content herself with helping in other ways, by doing research again.  She thought she would not miss the battlefield, would not miss the danger, the horrors, the pressure.

She was wrong.

## 7.

In another room, Izzah is crying.  Wailing might be a better word, actually. 

When she was given an official diagnosis, the audiologist told Fareeha and Angela that Izzah would make noises initially, more on instinct than anything, and begin to quiet in the language acquisition phase, realizing that she cannot hear the result of any of her efforts—but that has yet to happen.  Supposedly, at seven months, she should be getting quieter, should be making less and less noise.  In practice, however, she is as loud as ever.

“We should check on her.”  Beside Fareeha in bed is Angela, sounding very anxious—and looking it, too, from what Fareeha can make out in the moonlight.  She is sitting up, now, and moving to get out of bed.

“No,” Fareeha says, an arm blocking Angela’s path, although she wants to get up, too, aches to take Izzah into her arms and comfort her.  “It hasn’t been fifteen minutes yet.”

(When they agreed to do this, to let Izzah try crying it out, and to see if she could learn to self soothe well enough to begin sleeping through the night, fifteen minutes seemed much shorter.  The reality of it, of listening to her daughter wail inconsolably for minutes on end, to know that she wants them, thinks she needs them and that they are not coming—it is so much harder.  Although this is necessary, she wonders what lesson Izzah is learning from it, wonders if they are really doing the right thing.  Just because parenting books told them that this was what they ought to do, does not mean that it is necessarily _true_ )

“But she sounds so sad, Fareeha,” Angela argues, and she is right, Izzah _does_ sound miserable, and Fareeha wonders if she is frightened, alone in the dark in a strange room, in a house that is unfamiliar to her, and in weather far colder than she is used to.  Maybe deciding to do this when they visited her father over winter was a bad idea, after all.

“I know,” Fareeha says, because she cannot deny it, but she is _trying_ not to give in, here, is trying to do what is best for their daughter and be strong when Angela does not seem to be willing to.  Still, it is hard to ignore her cries, hard not to think of how strange it must be for Izzah, how terrifying, to know for the first time her mothers will not come running to help her as soon as she indicates she needs them.

Another minute of Izzah crying, two.

Fareeha wants to give in, badly, wants to go to Izzah, to hold her in her arms and to comfort her, to show her that nothing is wrong, and that she will always be there to protect her, should she need it, but Fareeha _also_ just told Angela not to do the same, and she has some pride, some resolve, some dignity.

Well, perhaps not, perhaps she ought to go, ought to give in, to cross the hall and see if something is wrong—because something _might_ be, now that she thinks about it.  Izzah does not sound hungry, nor is she crying in the same way she does when she needs a change, but perhaps she does need something, after all, perhaps she needs Fareeha, or Angela, is not simply lonely or scared or wanting to be held.

Perhaps Fareeha should go to her.

Before she can, however, Angela is speaking again, says, “We really should get her.  It isn’t fair to be doing this in someone else’s home, you know.”

Well, that sounds reasonable enough, except “Dad can’t hear her,” and her mother is not with them, yet, agreed to fly in in a day or two.  The only ones disturbed by Izzah’s crying are Fareeha and Angela, and that is why they chose to try this here, not on base.

A sigh from Angela, defeated and sad—she does not want to do this, does not want to hear their daughter crying any more than Fareeha does, and she must have known it would not work, saying that they might disturb Sam, but she clearly does not want to listen to their daughter cry any longer.

At that, Fareeha finally gives in.  It is bad enough to know that her daughter is upset, is hurt by the fact that she has been left to fall asleep by herself—it is worse to know that her wife is made sad by this too, is hurting just hearing their daughter wail. 

(And maybe, _maybe_ Fareeha was going to give in, anyway, but if Angela dares bring this up to her mother, Fareeha will tell Ana that she gave in for Angela’s sake, and not for her own.)

“Alright,” says she, “Just—stay here.”  On the off-chance that her father is awake, and is wandering the hall for some reason, Fareeha _knows_ he will make some joke about the time when she was seventeen and he caught her and a girlfriend—

—Well, there are some things about Fareeha’s childhood that she does not want her wife to know.

So she goes to Izzah, sees that everything is fine, and it is, of course, she is not hungry or dirty, and does not seem cold either, quieting as soon as Fareeha picks her up, then after a moment shifting to happy little noises as she tries to tug at the beads Fareeha forgot to take out of her hair before bed.

“You win,” she signs to Izzah, setting her down just long enough to collapse her foldable cot before scooping her back up again.

She need not have bothered.  When she returns to her bedroom, Angela insists they hold Izzah _just for a moment_ before putting her to bed, and somehow it ends how it always does, Izzah sleeping on her chest and Angela curled up protectively around them.

It does not feel like a loss.

## 8.

Parenting is appreciably harder than Angela thought.  Oh, Izzah’s needs are met easily enough, and the occasional frustration she causes is well worth it, goes away when Izzah smiles at her, or laughs, never reaches a point of boiling over, never leads to her snapping at her daughter, or her wife.  If anyone looked, Angela would not _seem_ any more stressed than usual, in fact.

(It helps, of course, that with her job, Angela is _always_ very stressed.)

In fact, it is not really stress that is getting to Angela at all, nor is it sleeplessness, or the fact that she has given up considerably more time to tending to her baby than she originally had planned—although that does hurt, the feeling of uselessness that accompanies being out of the field, and struggling, still, to readjust to spending long periods of time in the lab—it is not the fact that Fareeha is away, at least one week out of the month, if not two, or that Izzah is refusing, still, to be put on a sleep schedule.

It is the feeling, the _certainty_ , that she has not bonded enough with her baby.

Angela loves Izzah, she does.  Angela _adores_ her daughter, would not trade her for the world, and is terrified of what would happen, should harm come to Izzah, is certain that she could not survive such a loss.

But she feels like they have not connected, the way Izzah and Fareeha have.

Perhaps that is natural; Fareeha had 38 weeks to bond with Izzah before Angela ever held her daughter, and unlike hearing babies Izzah could not get used to Angela’s voice in the womb, and knowing she was there.  Perhaps it was helped by the endorphins Fareeha’s body released post-delivery, helping her to form that connection to her child—although Angela nursed, too, in an attempt to produce a similar effect.  Perhaps she is just not a very good mother.

No matter what it is, she cannot help but feel that Izzah wants to be around Fareeha, more than her, that Izzah is happier when Fareeha is in town, that she cries less when her other mother holds her.  Maybe that is not the case, but certainly, it seems so, and Angela cannot shake the feeling, cannot help but notice how Izzah will try to sign back to Fareeha, but stubbornly does not communicate with Angela, only cries and hopes that her needs will be met.

Angela does not regret Izzah, not one bit, but she is afraid that this was a mistake—not having her daughter, but being herself a parent.  After all, what model has she to base this on?  What does she know of what it is to have a mother, let alone a good relationship with one? 

No, Izzah was not a mistake at all, and she has bonded beautifully with _Fareeha_ , but maybe Angela is intruding, by being a part of their lives.  Maybe they would have been happier without her, just the two of them, or the two of them and Jesse.

Because Izzah gets along well, too, with the man who fathered her, finds her “uncle” and occasional babysitter to be endlessly fascinating, playing with his beard and his hat and his cape, making faces at him, and being delighted when he tickles her. 

And of course, Izzah loves her grandmother.  If Angela sets Izzah down for even a moment with her grandmother in the room, the baby will determinedly crawl over to Ana—stopping and starting as many times as necessary—in order to demand that she be held.

(She loves Sam too, although she was more cautious around him due to his unfamiliarity.  Out of anyone, he stopped her fussing the quickest, bounced her on his knee _just so_ and all her tears disappeared.  When Angela tries the same, Izzah does not seem to enjoy it.)

One common denominator here is blood, that Izzah seems to get along better with those to whom she shares a biological relation, but deep in her heart Angela knows that is not the cause.  There is no science to support as much, or none that supports as much reaching as far as attachments to grandparents, anyway, and the truth is that Angela only considers the notion because it is easier than the reality: Angela was perhaps not meant to be a parent.

She tries, naturally, does everything she can to be a good mother, but her best is sometimes not good enough.  Today, for example, Izzah is happy and wants to play, keeps waving her hands in Angela’s face and Angela is _trying,_ she is, but she realized that today would have been the second birthday of the child Fareeha miscarried, before they had Izzah, and it is hard for her to look at her baby and not think, _If things had gone right, you wouldn’t be here._

If things had gone right, Angela would not be terrified, every time she turns her back, of something going wrong, of Izzah somehow being hurt, or sick, and if they had gone right, she would not have this child at all and—well, she does not _want_ that, because she loves Izzah, is happy with the way things have turned out.  She is just sad, too, sad and scared, and worried that if she ever voices these thoughts it will seem like she does not love her baby, which she _does._

Her worry is only that she is not good enough for her daughter, and that her daughter would be happier without her.

But she cannot dwell on that, not now, not when Izzah is tugging at her hair and demanding attention.  Not when her very sensitive daughter is picking up on her sadness and beginning to cry too.  It is a worry for some other time, so she pushes it back, and pushes it back, and pushes it back, month after month.

## 9.

Izzah is crying, again.  Such is not unusual, because she is, after all, a baby, and although she has gotten quieter over time, she still has no other way of getting her mothers’ attention when she needs something at night, as she must now.

What is unusual is that Angela went to take care of her five minutes ago, and Fareeha can still hear her screaming.  Generally speaking, Izzah is quickly soothed, once she gets what she wants, and Fareeha knows that she is teething, but usually she quiets down after Angela picks her up for a few moments, if only because her mouth is soothed by biting her mother’s shoulder.

Why is Angela not holding her?

Fareeha begins to worry, then, when she realizes that the crying has neither slowed nor stopped, becomes concerned that perhaps something has happened.  Probably, things are fine, she reassures herself.  They are on base, after all, and no alarms have gone off, nor can she hear anything else unusual besides Izzah’s continued wailing.  Really, Fareeha should not worry, but even as she hurries to the nursery, she struggles to quell her rising panic.

Everything is—

— _Not_ fine.  Angela is in a ball, on the floor, and at first, Fareeha is terrified, is halfway though telling Athena to send out an alarm when she gets to her wife’s side and sees that she is still moving, still breathing, shoulders shaking as she herself sobs.

Fareeha allows herself a half-second of relief at most before turning her attention to Izzah, who is—also still breathing, or presumably at least, between her screams. 

“Up,” Izzah signs at her, “Up, up, up.”  It is one of only five words she knows, but she makes use of it often, demanding to be held, or moved, or to be played with. 

Fareeha picks her up, checks her over hurriedly to ensure that she has no injuries—and she does not, she is _fine_ —before returning most of her attention to her wife.  Izzah is still screaming, but she is the lesser concern, right now.  Sometimes, Fareeha knows, babies just _cry_.

“Angela,” she asks, tentatively hovers a hand over her wife’s back, not sure if touch would be welcome, “What’s wrong?”

(Angela does not _look_ injured, or sound it, and Fareeha knows that if this were a medical emergency with ether her wife or Izzah, that Angela would have taken charge of this situation already, would know what to do and would deal with it in that same strong, unflappable way she always does.  Seeing her like this instead scares Fareeha.)

Between sobs, Fareeha can make out Angela saying “Sorry,” and “I can’t,” and that really does little to alleviate her worry.

“Can’t what?” she asks, trying not to sound as panicked as she feels.  One of them has to stay calm in this situation, if they want Izzah to calm down, and this time, it has to be Fareeha.

At her wife’s next words, though, Fareeha does panic, a little, feels _fear_ cold in her veins, “Can’t take care of her,” Angela says. 

This cannot be postpartum depression, Fareeha knows, because Angela was never pregnant, but it _sounds_ enough like it, and she and her wife have always talked around diagnoses, when it comes to their own mental health, have addressed practical symptoms only, but she thinks Angela does have depression, and she worries that—

“Stay here,” she tells her wife, although she probably need not have, and she goes to the only person who she knows can help, right now.

Her mother.

Izzah has never had an overnight stay, before, and in her rush Fareeha does not grab quite everything she ought to have, but Ana takes a still crying Izzah anyway, and does not pry when Fareeha says she _needs_ her to take the baby—although she certainly will later—recognizing the urgency in Fareeha’s voice.

When she returns to her quarters, Angela has calmed down, somewhat, is sitting against Izzah’s crib, head tipped back against it, face completely blank.  “You came back,” she sounds confused, and then, a moment later, panicked, “Where’s—”

“She’s with Mum,” Fareeha cuts the question off before Angela can worry further.  “She’s fine.  But we need to talk.”

Angela nods, but does not say anything.

“Tell me what’s really going on,” she insists.  “From the beginning.”  She does not promise she will not be angry, because she cannot promise that, but she hopes Angela knows that she will be as understanding as possible.

And she is.  She listens, and she does not interrupt of contradict, even when Angela says things that are untrue, like “She loves you more,” and “She cries so much more when I’m there,” because she understands how it might seem like it, to Angela, who is with Izzah the most and has dealt with all of her worst days, and is the one their daughter turns to first for comfort. 

But it is hard to listen to.  It is hard to hear her wife say that she does not feel fit to parent, that she thinks she is failing her daughter, that she worries, every day, that Izzah will die, and that it will be her fault.  It is harder still to hear Angela talk about how she is struggling to adjust to working only on base, and how she misses the field—because those are things Fareeha ought to have seen coming, knowing that she herself felt much better upon returning to work.  Hardest of all is the fact that she missed this, somehow, that she thought that everything was fine, and her wife has been struggling this much all the while.

Fareeha is not going to make the same mistakes as her mother, she resolves then and there, is not going to let her career destroy her family.

It is a long, hard night, but they will survive it, together.

They always have.

## 10.

When she returns to the field, Angela fears she will feel guilty, will feel that by resuming a more active role on missions, again, she is minimizing Fareeha’s own ability to work, will feel remorse for the breaking of the deal she and Fareeha made before Izzah was ever conceived, wherein she volunteered to stay home for her child’s first year of life.  To a certain degree, she does feel those things, at first—does worry that she is being unfair to her wife, and to her child—but then she calls Fareeha, settling into her bunk the first night of her first week away, and Fareeha _knows_ already how she must be feeling, tells her that yes, Izzah was already missing her at bedtime and yes, Fareeha wishes she could be in the field, too, but no, Angela should not second guess herself, because Izzah got used to Fareeha being away, and Fareeha has gone on enough missions, recently, to not _really_ mind sitting this one out, and truthfully, this is what is most important for their family, that Angela be well.

As much as Angela wishes her own mental health were not a factor in this—because she still thinks it should have been fine, being home for a year, _she_ should have been fine—she does, after her second and third mission, have to concede that point.  She is happier, when she can spend time off-base, and feel again like she is helping the world, like she is fulfilling her purpose, and she thinks it is making her a far better mother than she was before.

When she could not be defending the world alongside her wife, Izzah _became_ Angela’s world.  In and of itself, that should not have been a bad thing, for many people consider their children to be the most important parts of their lives, but for Angela it did not work, consumed her, made her feel as if there were nothing of _herself_ left.

She thought that, going back, she would worry about Izzah.  She does, of course.  When it is safe to, she lets her mind wander to what Izzah is doing at that moment, and allows herself a moment to fret over whether or not Fareeha has remembered to make sure that she does not peel off her socks and try to swallow them— _again_ —but she is not longer only worrying about Izzah.

(That is not to say that worrying was the only thing she did, when she was taking care of her daughter full-time.  She played with Izzah, and laughed with her, and taught her as much as she could.  Certainly, the good times outweighed the bad.)

It is easier, now, to put into perspective how little danger Izzah is in on any given day when Angela has seen the field again, is easy to redirect her anxiety elsewhere, rather than thinking only of what might happen to her baby.  That, more than anything, she thinks was the problem, not Izzah, but the lack of an outlet for her worries, her fears.

All of Angela’s worst times have been between action, when she was injured, or after Overwatch fell, or between assignments from MSF.  It is boredom, that kills her, because she never feels safe, no matter where she is, can never truly adjust to that feeling of being at home, and experiencing a genuine life-threatening situation, or rescuing others from such—that helps.  It gives her something to redirect the anxiety on, long enough for her to catch her breath.

To know that it was only that, and not simply Izzah herself who made Angela feel so overwhelmed—it is an unspeakable relief.  There is shame, too, that her daughter could not be enough for her, and embarrassment that she, of all people, who can cope with the stress of the most critical surgeries, could not do the same with motherhood, or at least not alone, and there is the guilt, too, that this is not what they planned, but mostly, she feels relieved. 

Because now, she is happier, and now, she knows she can be a better mother to her daughter, and now, what she always felt is confirmed to be true: she loves Izzah, she does, more than anything, and the problem was only ever with herself, and not her daughter.

Maybe this is not ideal.  Maybe some guilt lingers that she had to tell her wife that she could not handle anything more, right now, even if she is feeling better again, and that their plans to adopt a second child will have to be put on hold, perhaps indefinitely.  Maybe things would look different, now, if only she had said something sooner, if only she had been able to identify her own needs, and therefore communicate them to her wife.

(Maybe, even if she could not identify what was wrong, she ought to have told Fareeha that _something_ was, but she was so sure that she could handle it, that it would go away in time, and it was a mistake, yes, but not one she will make again—nor one that Fareeha will allow her to make, watchful as she has become.  They are together in this, Fareeha reminds her, and slowly, slowly, Angela is beginning to accept that as true.)

Maybe there are many ways that things could be better, but for the first time in a long time, Angela feels so very, very hopeful about her own future.

This may not be the best way things could have gone, but when she returns home from that third mission, and Izzah takes one shaky first step trying to reach her and welcome her home, Angela cannot imagine that she would trade this experience for anything. 

Things are finally starting to feel _right._

## 11.

When, upon returning from a very short emergency extraction mission, Fareeha walks into her quarters and finds that everything is covered in sticky notes—bright, _neon_ sticky notes, at that—she thinks that she must have entered the wrong set of rooms, and almost turns to walk back out.  In fact, the only thing that stops her is her very enthusiastic baby moving very quickly towards her, pulling up on the couch to walk the last few steps, falling upon colliding with Fareeha’s legs, and beginning to cry.

“ _Izzah_ ,” she says, and signs along, her voice both comforting and exasperated, “Be careful.”

Of course, this is not helpful, as Izzah does not know, yet, what _careful_ means, and behaves accordingly.  Now that she is more mobile, Izzah is getting into more trouble than ever, and she may have inherited the Amari precociousness, but she has none of their caution, flinging herself literally headfirst into any and every danger.

“Up,” signs she, heedless of Fareeha’s warning, and then, “Mommy up” again and again, not giving Fareeha any time to set down her bags before repeating the request.

“Okay,” Fareeha signs, just before she picks Izzah up, “Okay.”

“You always let her win,” Angela is watching from the doorway to the nursery, an amused smile on her face.

“She’s too stubborn,” Fareeha says, looking fondly down at Izzah “I couldn’t fight her if I tried,” and that is true, at least partially, but there is also some part of Fareeha that thinks, _Is that so bad?_ She never won fights with her own mother, and look where it got them.

“It’s cute,” Angela tells her, moving across the room and leaning up to give her a kiss, and whatever defensiveness Fareeha might have been feeling melts away then, because her wife does understand, really.

Izzah does not appreciate the show of affection—or perhaps just does not appreciate being trapped—and squirms insistently, eager to be let down, and so they break the kiss, and Fareeha watches with some amusement as Izzah crawls purposefully away, as if she had things to do and people to see.

So determined, just like her mothers. 

She might look like an Amari, her eyes having settled at a brown close to Ana’s, and her skin nearly the same tone as Fareeha’s own, if only slightly warmer, with thick dark hair and a strong brow, but something in the face she makes when she is concentrating, or when something very _important_ , by her standards, is happening, that reminds Fareeha of Angela.

And, on the subject of her wife, and being busy—now that there is no crying baby to divert her attention, Fareeha has some pressing questions.  Namely, “Decided to do some redecorating?”

The sticky notes are so unlike Angela, who hates clutter, and who prefers that colors be as neutral as possible.  So, too, is the level of impulsivity.

“They’re to help her learn,” Angela says, and gestures to the set on the closet door, “See?” 

_Door,_ says the yellow sticky note, when Fareeha squats down to Izzah’s eye level to read it, and _die Tür,_ says the green, and باب says the pink, in Angela’s wobbly, uncertain Arabic. 

“I think she’s a little young to be reading,” Fareeha says, not sure what else to make of this, and still not entirely sure what Angela intended to accomplish.  “Four or five years too young, in fact.”

“I could read before I was two,” Angela says, and Fareeha is starting to say _Our baby isn’t going to be like you were,_ before Angela continues on, “But that’s not what this is about.”

Thank goodness.  Even if Izzah were somehow capable of learning to read this young, Fareeha is not sure she would want that.  Already, there is enough pressure, being the child of the two of them.  The last thing Fareeha wants is for her baby to face the pressure of being labelled a prodigy, too.

“So you’ve just decided to make our living room a 3D trilingual dictionary because…?”

“I read that it’s easier for deaf babies to learn their reading language if they start seeing it when they’re still at the standard pre-verbal age,” Angela explains, “And with hearing bilingual babies, you’re supposed to repeat things to them, so…”

“So you put sticky notes over every noun in our quarters?”  Really, this should not surprise Fareeha, given that Angela has always been the type to be a bit overzealous, in her attempts to help others, and given, also, that her wife is a _terrible_ teacher, who thinks that everyone just picks things up the same way she does.

“Yes?” Angela makes the statement a question with her tone.  “It can’t _hurt._ ”

“It’s not going to help, either, at this point,” Fareeha says.  “They’re all going to have fallen off by the time Izzah’s…” her voice trails off as she scans the room for her daughter, who is being uncharacteristically well behaved.

“By the time she’s?”

“By the time she’s old enough to read them,” Fareeha says, “And where _is_ she, anyway?”

A shrug from Angela, and that’s an improvement, in a way, because this time three months ago Angela would have known already exactly where Izzah was, would be too worried to let her out of sight for even a moment, lest she be hurt.

But it is not helpful.  Fareeha cannot see her anywhere, but she hears a wet smacking sound from the direction of the kitchen, and realizes with a jolt that Izzah was wearing socks. 

“ _Socks,_ ” Fareeha says urgently, and panics for a moment, can see in Angela’s face that she does, too, because Izzah has _mostly_ gotten over trying to choke herself with her socks, but maybe today she tried again, and—

—Izzah is in the kitchen, happily munching on a sticky note that, once Fareeha pries it from her mouth, appears to say _Oven._

She laughs, then, panic dissipating, gives Angela a look to say _I told you so_ , only to see that Angela is laughing, too.  A good sign—she might have been frustrated, before, or still worried, might have blamed herself for letting Izzah get out of sight.  But not now, because things are fine.

Things are fine, and they are happy, the three of them together.

Everyone is going to be okay.

## 12.

Izzah’s first birthday arrives, and they throw her a party, even though she will not remember it.  There is a cake, the icing of which she smears first across her own face, and then both of her mothers’, Ana capturing the whole incident on her camera, and there are presents, which Izzah mostly eschews in favor of continuing to play with the wrapping, enjoying the ability to destroy it, and at the end of the evening, each of the adults involved in her life write her a letter, to be read when she is older.

Jesse’s is about learning to accept what it means to be anchored to one place again, to know that he cannot run, and also about how Izzah is almost too big, now, to sit in his hat, but when she was born he could lay her whole body in it.

Sam writes a letter to his granddaughter about the choices she will face, as she grows, about whether or not she will want to be a part of the Deaf community, or assimilate to the hearing world, on whether she will sign, or will lipread, on whether she will embrace her deafness, or will want Angela to intervene, and to give her full hearing.  No matter what she chooses, he promises he will not be angry, or disappointed, that she will always be herself, be his granddaughter, and that will be enough for him.

Ana refuses to let anyone read what it is that she writes, and tries unsuccessfully to hide that she is crying as she writes it.

Fareeha’s letter is about bridges, about the ways in which the past connects to the present, and the future.  This letter will one day be Izzah’s view back into the first year of her life, will connect her to her past just as becoming a mother has helped Fareeha to better understand her _own_ mother.  She talks about hopes, too, and dreams.  They are not wishes about careers, nor hobbies, just that Izzah will be happy, will feel whole, will know that she is loved, no matter what she does in life.

Angela’s letter is honest, and it is painful, and she hopes her daughter will not one day resent her for it.  She writes about how difficult the first year was, in so many ways, and she does so in the hope that Izzah will never feel that she herself has to hide such a thing, so that her daughter will be open, honest, and ready to accept help, so that she can live the happiest life possible.  She also writes about how much she loves her daughter, how happy she has made her, how glad she is that they are a family now, that they are whole.  She says that things are looking up.

It is all true.

**Author's Note:**

> and thats all folks... 
> 
> tho obvs i dont write 12k fics for every prompt and only went ham bc emilia is my friend whom i love but if u have any Questions abt my Thoughts abt anything i have a twitter @euhemeria and a curiouscat under that same @ and yes... i fill prompts sometimes... esp abt baby related things bc i adore babies
> 
> ftr izzah means power, and her last name is amari, no hyphenations because its literally illegal in switzerland to hyphenate ur babys last name. angela also gave her a hebrew name (hadar, a name traditionally used for boys but lately given to girls too, meaning greatness or glory), but its not part of her legal name... because i jokingly named a dnd npc that and so now i knew if i mentioned it in fic all my players would read it like UM BITCH? so i cucked myself. 
> 
> anyway i think they do eventually move forward on their plans to adopt a second and third kid BUT its not til izzah is more than three (bc angela needed time) and only one is a baby (and bc it was fareeha who really badly wanted a second baby, fareeha has more of a primary caregiver role for that child until they hit toddlerhood). basically they see how theyre feeling and do whats best for their mental/emotional health (and for izzahs, as well). things arent always easy but they _do_ work out, and i can say that w complete certainty bc this is a fic and not real life
> 
> if u have any thoughts... pls let me know in the comments... even if those thoughts were just "it was good"


End file.
